


Stiles Stilinski and the Pack Mentality Experience

by knytemere



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Camp Nanowrimo, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, Human Scott, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knytemere/pseuds/knytemere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hadn't even heard about the new band Pack Mentality until he was trying desperately to win tickets to their show. When he did, he had no idea how quickly his crush on their lead singer, Derek Hale, would take off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do It With a Rockstar

**Author's Note:**

> Work in progress fic! Hoping to keep it updated semi-regularly. I'll post about any updates on my tumblr [mostlysterek](http://mostlysterek.tumblr.com/), as well as toss out a sneak peek every now and then.
> 
> I also welcome any criticism through here or my tumblr. My ask box is always open and I am constantly looking to improve.
> 
> Thanks guys! Hope you like it.

Stiles hastily dialed the number. This was, he could swear, the thirtieth time he’d called the radio station today. It was Saturday afternoon, and they’d been advertising since Wednesday about a ticket giveaway for the hottest new band around, “Pack Mentality”.  The ad they featured was dramatic and powerful, with a man whose voice ached of sharp edges, strong jawlines, badass-attitude, and sexual fervor.

“This is Derek Hale, lead singer of Pack Mentality, reminding you to keep an ear open for the howling wolf during broadcasts this week. One lucky caller will receive free tickets to one of our shows in Beacon Hills this month.”

He hadn’t even heard much of their music before this week; he barely even listened to the radio. Usually his iTunes library was enough to sate every musical need he could have, but this week he had spent too much money and time searching for Pack Mentality’s album and singles and every little bit of information he could find. His Google-fu helped him discover that this band reeked of new-found popularity, attitude, celebrity, and sexiness.

Stiles had watched tons of their performances on YouTube, soaking up every little bit of them that he could. He was pretty sure that he’d even ordered a poster with their faces on it last night in some sort of insomniac shopping spree. He loved the way Derek would pull the stand mic close, closing his eyes and singing right up against the receiver, both hands clasped around it, almost like he was making out with it, kissing and caressing it like he would a lover. Sometimes the camera would catch his beautiful, beautiful eyes and Stiles would just melt right then and there. It was something about Derek’s face that did that to him, that mentally brought him to his knees.

Stiles was nervously tapping his pencil on his computer desk, his foot bouncing up and down, his whole body expressing his anxiety. He could probably just buy tickets. He had enough money. He could skip meals for a few weeks. But they were probably sold out. He’d never be able to get them. People are probably hoarding them. Their band is too cool for this place anyway. They’d likely never come back to Beacon Hills after this. He was doomed. Someone else probably already won. The tickets were gone. He had no ch—

“Hey there, caller! Can I get your name, man?” the overly-chipper voice of the radio host came through the handset, snapping Stiles out of his pessimistic spiral.

“Uh… oh my god! S-Stiles! Stiles Stilinski!” He was pretty sure he was going to pass out from the head rush he got as he bolted up from his desk chair, knocking his knee against the desk’s underside.

“Well, Stiles, let’s hear your best wolf howl, ‘cause you’ve just won tickets to see Pack Mentality this Friday at the Beacon Hills Performing Arts Center!”

Stiles jumped around – hobbled, really – making an absolute fool of himself with his over-enthusiastic wolf impression as he howled into the phone. His heart was in his throat and he was flushed with excitement. He hung up after the call screener got his information. The tickets would be at his house by Tuesday. Stiles was overjoyed, was ecstatic, was…

Was about to puke.

He had two tickets to see Pack Mentality. Guaranteed a spot near the stage. Backstage passes.

Derek Hale.

He was going to get to be in the same room as Derek Hale. He’d get to see his band, hear him sing, watch his eyes, ogle his jawline, track the sweat as it dripped through his stubble, see his muscles strain under his shirt…

Friday would be the day that Stiles died from fangirling.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Scott, please! You’ve gotta come with me to the show!” Stiles pleaded, holding onto his backpack strap with one hand and grasping at Scott’s shoulder with the other.

“Why? They’re just some alt-rock band, dude. I’ve got plans with Allison and you’ve only got 2 tickets.” Scott shuts his locker, making a face at Stiles. Stiles would _not_ take no for an answer.

“You’re like, literally the worst best friend ever, you know that?”

“Why do you need to go with someone anyway? Why not just go by yourself?” Scott questioned, shifting his backpack on his shoulders. He eyed the clock above them before giving Stiles an even more put-upon look.

“Because how stupid would that make me look? Hot new band comes to town and I can’t even get a single solitary person to come along with me. That really puts me in a great light.” Stiles slumped hard against the locker, slamming his head back against it.

“No one is going to judge you for going to a concert alone. They won’t even know that you’re there by yourself.” Scott was getting fed up with Stiles’ begging. This whole ordeal had started right after Stiles had won the contest half a week ago.

“Psh, well, I mean… _I’ll_ know! That’s… that’s bad enough.” His gaze drifted away from Scott – and his mind away from their conversation – as Lydia Martin walked by, perfect hair bouncing on those perfect shoulders on her perfect body… And then he did something that was very, _very_ Stiles.

“Lydia! Lydia, wait!” He caught up with her, smiling a wide, toothy grin as he bounded over. The only response he received was an expectant shake of her head and raise of her well-shaped eyebrows. His brain stopped to take her in for just a moment too long.

“Yes, Stiles?”

“Uh-uh… umm. Do you, do you wanna go see Pack Mentality with me? I’ve got tickets and they’re pretty good and you’re pretty great and it’d be pretty cool if we went and I mean, not like a date. Unless! Unless you wanted it to be a date, I mean. That’d be… I’d be up for that.” He swallowed, mentally gasping for air as the realization of everything he just spewed forth caught up with him.

Lydia eyed him, up and down, and up again. She looked him in the face, wearing her classic calculated expression. His dread curled in his stomach, and he steeled himself for the rejection.

“Sure, Stiles. We’ll go see them. Pick me up at 7.” With that, she turned on the heel of her boot and strutted – strutted, yes – away from Stiles. He dropped back against the wall of lockers, eyes wide and glossy. Scott came up and plopped a hand onto his shoulder, gripping him lightly and giving a small shake.

“Looks like you solved that problem, huh? But… wow. Lydia hardly speaks to you. Not to mention your long-standing – what do you call it? Your ‘torrid affair’?” Scott mocked, grinning wide.

Lydia and Stiles had been friends before middle school. They'd had classes together for almost their entire lives, but she dropped him like a stone when guys started to notice her. Stiles knew it all along, had always known how beautiful she was, how beautiful she would be, but these guys were leeches. He wouldn't let her elude him just like that though, he'd carried his crush through it all, and now his chance was coming around again. Oh, how the tables have turned. But he could think about that later. For now, it was time to rub it in Scott's face.

“Shut it, asshole. I’m taking the hottest girl in school to the hottest band in town that has the hottest lead singer I’ve ever seen. You’re jealous and you know it,” Stiles retorted, sticking his tongue out at Scott.

Oh fuck. Here came the puking feeling again. Fuck.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

Friday came too fast. Way, _way_ too fast.

Stiles was still reeling from the fact that he had shamelessly approached Lydia Martin as he pulled his Pack Mentality-branded t-shirt over his head. It was form-fitting, cut in just the right style. The way it clung to him in all the best spots was what Stiles enjoyed the most; it displayed his slim physique instead of swallowing it in bagginess like his sweatshirts did. It was a good look for him. An impressive one, he hoped. He needed to be impressive tonight, had to be.

Yet he wasn’t sure exactly why he was getting so dolled up, whether it was for Lydia or for Derek. It was all so confusing, a weird mix of star-struck crush and full-on sexual attraction. He didn’t even know the guy and he was head-over-heels for him, worse than he had been for Lydia when he first discovered that a strawberry-blonde-haired angel walked this earth.

He tried to clear his head and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, slipping a looser-fitting long-sleeve shirt on top of the other to jam up his cool-factor and not make him look like such an obvious groupie. His poster had arrived, and he’d already bought a frame for it. It was hanging across from his bed, so that Derek’s beautiful pout-scowl could be stared at comfortably whenever Stiles wanted to drift off to sleep. Or whenever he wanted a little self-relief. Whichever came first.

“Stiles, tonight, you become a man. Or at least you’ll make out with someone. Hopefully.”

He grabbed his keys, checked his breath one more time and ran out to his Jeep.

Then he ran back inside to grab the backstage passes he’d forgotten.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

“You’re late,” Lydia said, calmly, but with just enough frostbite that Stiles could feel the sting even through his armor-of-unrequited-love. She looked stunning; her hair curling luxuriously onto her shoulders, cascading like a light copper waterfall. She had on a deeply-purple cropped jacket that complimented her dark blue scoop neck shirt, with a midnight grey skirt. Its faded galaxy pattern made the stars appear to swirl around her. Her jet black heels were of the kind that Stiles could only describe as “fuck-me pumps”, and boy did they live up to their name. Oh man… She was a starlight beauty, dressed in the vestiges of the autumn eve, and Stiles could write poetry about her for ages.

“I know but, I mean, uh, it’s only 7:10. The show doesn’t actually start until 9, so we’ve got plenty of time, y’know, if you wanna grab something to eat or if you wanna go somewhere first or… or whatever. I’ve got a full tank of gas.” Here Stiles stopped, if only because he was out of breath, and gestured dramatically at his Jeep. Lydia smiled wryly at him, “Let’s just get to the show early.”

“We don’t have to; we’ve got passes and everything. We’re set.” He blinked at her, her grayish eyes like spotlights into his psyche. As the silent moment creaked onward he became just a bit more convinced that inside he was actually a frightened doe.

She looked him in the eyes, her lips pursing in a way that made Stiles uneasy. He noticed her hands shifting a little, her grip tightening on her small clutch purse.

“Let’s get to the show,” Lydia replied with the curtest of smiles.

“Uh… Yeah. Yes ma’am. Yes,” Stiles choked out, trotting over to open the passenger door for her, eliciting a contrastingly gracious “Thank you”. He shut it carefully and strode over to climb into the driver’s seat, pulling his door closed and just about to put his key into the ignition before the urge to say something unnecessary and far too curious overcame his self-control.

“Lydia, uh, why did you agree to come with me?” he said, squinting at her, legitimately confused as to why she would suddenly pay attention to him again. Attention enough, he thought, to be willingly seen in public with him _outside_ of school. “It’s just that you’ve mostly ignored me since middle school and,” he laughed nervously, “this is all pretty much out of the blue.” He swallowed, his throat dry and stiff.

The response he got was not what he had hoped for, but definitely what he should’ve seen coming. With an unblinking eye, long-practiced in her art form, she replied.

“Backstage pass to the hottest band around. I would be stupid to pass this up.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

Stiles’ heart was starting to beat faster as they got closer to the venue. His hands were clammy, his armpits were slightly damp (24-hour anti-perspirant deodorant his ass). Pack Mentality’s latest CD was coming out of his Jeep’s less-than-awesome speakers and he was softly singing along with every track.

He had tried, at first, to provide small talk between himself and Lydia. She wasn’t unreceptive, but he could tell that she would rather not sit and chit-chat about every little tree, landmark, weather pattern or whatever else Stiles to could manage to focus on as they drove along. So he had settled for enjoying the music, the sound of Derek Hale’s voice, the way he could see him, straddling the mic stand, crooning softly into it, singing like he was speaking to a lover. He could feel the way that Derek would lean in, slowly, black leather jacket crinkling very softly as he lifted a hand up to Stiles’ face to caress—

“Stiles!” Lydia grabbed the wheel, pulling them out of the near-swerve into the oncoming lane.

“ _Shit!_ I’m so sorry, Lydia, I have no idea what just came over me!”

He was lying; it was Derek.

“Just get us to this concert and back in one piece.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters to come soon! Stiles and Lydia arrive at the concert, front row! Does Derek notice Stiles? Does Stiles pass out at the sight of Derek? How will Lydia feel about all of this?
> 
> Stay tuned :D!
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from ["Do It With A Rockstar"](http://open.spotify.com/track/33gDeOk0kugRtliaUPYK8p) by Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra.


	2. Head Over Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia have made it to the concert, but there's still some tension sticking around between them.

Front row. Front _fucking_ row. Well, ok, there was no front row. There weren’t even seats. But their passes got them this close, practically pressed up against the side of the stage! The venue itself wasn’t huge, but it accommodated a surprising amount of people. It was mostly just an amphitheater, souped-up with all the equipment to have a rock show. They had put up various lights above them, added towers of speakers on either side of the stage. “Beacon Hills Entertainment Center” was a bit of a pleasant exaggeration. Stiles didn’t care though, he was here and it was going to be _amazing._

The crowd behind them was excited, bouncing, undulating, and eagerly awaiting Pack Mentality’s presence onstage. Stiles and Lydia were standing close together, partly because the mass of people behind them forced them to do so and partly because Stiles was trying to enjoy the scent of Lydia’s perfume before it was completely obscured by the musk of sweaty concertgoers. It was a light scent, maybe a hint of strawberry, but he was pretty sure that she was catching on to his frequent sniffing. His mind wandered to thoughts of what Derek Hale would smell like, what kind of cologne he used. Eventually Stiles decided that he’d smell of leather and something with a spicy note to it, hot and earthy all at once. A smile grew across his face, his eyes glazing as little bit as he imagined being close enough to Derek to smell him. Even if he were pressed right up against him he’d still probably try to get closer.

The opening band beginning their onstage setup broke him away from his fantasies, which was probably a good thing; these pants were pretty revealing as is. They were a local group, pretty small time, but obviously super glad to be there as they started chatting to the crowd before their set. Stiles shifted his weight around a bit as the crowd jostled anxiously behind him.

Lydia had dropped most of her guarded exterior while they were waiting for the show to start and she was standing more comfortably next to Stiles. She seemed like she wasn’t entirely just there because of concert tickets. In another world, Stiles imagined, where popularity and the struggle to achieve it wasn’t such a ludicrous and divisive endeavor, he and Lydia could really have become strong friends. She obviously took the gold for both beauty and brains out of the two of them, but he could at least contribute his excellent knack for sarcasm.

Thinking about it like he was, his oft-traitor body had been looking at her for just a little while too long to be justified as a casual glance. She noticed him out of the corner of her eye, casting an irritated look at him.

“Something wrong, Stiles?” The familiar tone of annoyance had returned to her voice. He looked at her just a little bit longer, his gaze softening slightly. He wondered why she played this game all the time, this game where she wasn’t smart, where she was so very cold. He’d known a nicer Lydia before all of this. Something shifted in him as he replied.

“Nothing. Just that… I forgot to tell you how beautiful you looked tonight,” he stated calmly, nodding a little bit as if to reassure her. In reality, that reassurance was for him.

He almost hadn’t seen the twitch in her eyebrows elicited by his words. She hid her reaction away just like she hid everything else. Lydia looked like a bird whose feathers were ruffled in posturing as she quickly thought up a sufficient response to something that so obviously struck her. Stiles will admit, it was awfully frank, even for him. It hadn’t been voiced as opinion, but as fact.

“I know,” were the first words out of her mouth. They were biting, overly-confident words, the words of an alpha-bitch, a woman in charge with men at her feet. Yet Stiles was unfazed. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt calm while in her gaze. She hastily turned back to watch the band, who were finishing their little speech about merchandise and how great an opportunity this was.

Stiles turned away as well, the sudden, slight tension in the air prompting him to swallow a bundle of nerves that had formed in the aftermath of the exchange.

“…and thank you,” Lydia nearly-whispered, head tilted slightly down as her eyes cast themselves left, looking askance at Stiles. He smiled back warmly, a soft smile, a smile of someone who really _truly_ understood.

And with that, he felt a bit of weight release itself from his ankles, like he could finally walk again after spending years in quicksand. Something had clicked inside Stiles during that moment. He finally got it. He knew. Lydia wouldn’t go for him, wouldn’t consider him. Not because they wouldn’t go well together, or because they might not have too much in common, but because she wanted so much so differently from Stiles. Lydia wasn’t betraying herself by playing up her looks and playing down her smarts; she was scamming the system. She was using her advantages, getting ahead. She didn’t need Stiles to be her knight-in-shining-armor who would rescue her from the prison of her high school image. She was no one’s damsel in distress. No matter what, she could never stop being the intelligent person she was, never would stop. For some reason it made sense now, perfect sense. She had her reasons. Lydia had her reasons and Stiles knew now that that was perfectly ok. Someday, maybe, she’ll want the same thing he does, and they’ll be able to try this, but for now, he was done.

Stiles was no longer at the concert with resident rose-red lipsticked, high-heeled hottie Lydia Martin, but instead he found himself with Lydia Martin, a complex person, beauty, brain, and maybe soon, friend.

The crowd gave a sudden cheer as the opening band began to play their first song. As the mass of people became more energetic, Stiles let it dissolve the tension between them, bumping her playfully with his shoulder as they bounced and half-danced to the music. He was pretty sure he saw her smile at him, honest and warm, of the very same variety he had shown to her. In that instant he knew that she understood too.

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

The opening band was removing their stuff from the stage amid applause and cheers from the crowd. Their set was pretty great; Stiles could see them going places with it, but right now all he wanted to see was Pack Mentality. His skin was itchy with goosebumps and anticipation. Nothing mattered more to him right now than being so close to the stage that he could almost touch Derek Hale; that Derek Hale could almost touch him. Lydia seemed more visibly excited as well, finally beginning to drop her façade and enjoy herself openly. Stiles had danced with her during one of the more upbeat tunes from the openers. It was… oddly liberating. He would remember this day in detail for a long time, for that if not for anything else.

Stiles’ breathing hitched in his chest as the lights onstage started to dim, cloaking them in the twilight darkness of the outdoors. They were literally seconds away from the concert that would make his young life. This whole week had been such a blur and now the moment was finally here, he would finally be able to see Derek Hale up-close, see him sing and see his band play. Man, if Scott were here… but that didn’t matter. He was forging new memories for himself and fostering a new friendship in the process.

As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he could see four forms standing on the stage, the nearest about 10 feet away.

“Holy shit…” It was them. It was really, _really_ them. He was going to pass out, right here, right now. He would hyperventilate and miss the entire show by way of excitement-induced coma.

A slow cymbal roll built, trapping his accelerating breath in his throat, as the stage and the band roared to life, breaking right out into their newest single, a loud, powerful song with heavy emphasis on the skill of each individual member.

Stiles’ eyes scanned around in a mystified blaze of joy and excitement. He didn’t even realize that he was screaming his lungs out and wildly bouncing all over. The drummer, Isaac, was in the middle of a complex solo showcasing his talent on a drum set, maintaining syncopated beat upon syncopated beat. Stiles knew from hours of listening to this track that the next instrument to be featured would be the bass, played by Boyd. From watching their previous concerts, Stiles knew that Boyd had a semi-tangible intensity about him, and it was even stronger in person. Stiles could feel the concentration in Boyd’s veins and the power in his fingertips as he jammed out his solo for the eager, ravenous mass of fans present. The next part was his favorite – and not just because it was Derek’s vocal work and range being blatantly boasted about and shown off. The only other band member with a microphone, Erica, their keyboard and synthesizer player burst into a hauntingly beautiful refrain as her voice tangled with Derek’s, painting beautiful, contrasting pictures of beauty and beast, a primal tone to each word and note as their voices rose higher and higher. Erica’s fingers danced across the keys as she sang, blurring with her pace.

But Stiles’ attention was almost wholly on Derek for the largest part of the duet. As the section reached its climax Derek tore the mic away from the stand, shifting into a powerful stance as his eyes clenched, his mouth wide as his vocal cords rang out with rough, strong sounds. The mic stand toppled, forgotten as Derek fell into the music, allowing himself to move around the stage, looking out over the wild conglomerate of bodies in attendance.

Stiles’ heartbeat had hit 88 miles per hour, and he was certain that somewhere Doc Brown and Marty McFly were blasting off and leaving a trail of flames in their wake, taking his rationality with them. Stiles felt like he was going to be absolute mess. He didn’t – couldn’t – hide how much he was enamored with this entire event. He could not _believe_ that he was here, that he was _actually_ this close to the man who had recently become both his idol and the subject of his nighttime fantasies. To say it was surreal would be the understatement to end all understatements.

The song wound down into an explosive finale, Isaac’s cymbals crashing loudly as the stage lighting dimmed again. Stiles cheered and cheered and _cheered_. His voice would be shot for days, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t show Pack Mentality every little ounce of his appreciation and adoration. The lights slowly came back up as Derek pulled a tall stool out onto the stage and sat down, an electric guitar waiting on a stand nearby.

Stiles knew from his research that Derek had never once actually played this guitar onstage, though he always had it with him. It was a custom Fender Stratocaster, painted with the image of a wolf howling into the night sky, mostly black with a silvery glint to the neck, the headstock made of a dark wood that had a deep red tint to it. It was a beautiful instrument, as powerful and mysterious looking as its owner.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Derek’s sultry voice pronounced, a brief wetting of his lips following the words. What Stiles wouldn’t give to be those lips right now.

Several hundred voices roared up in response, Stiles’ among them, deafening each other with their cheers. Stiles was basically ready to jump up on the stage, and if it weren’t for Lydia’s slightly-concerned look he probably would have. He considered a split second that he must look like he’s about to have an aneurism, red-faced, panting slightly, sweating a little more than he’d like due to the combined body heat of hundreds. He just didn’t care; he was here, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be right now.

“Glad to hear it,” Derek gave a slight smile, “As you all very likely know, we’re Pack Mentality,” the crowd erupted again, “What you may not know is that this is a bit of a homecoming for us. We started out playing music together during college, and things took off in a big way from there, but Beacon Hills is our home. We all grew up here, and after a long, long time, I can say that we’re glad to be back. How about we play some more music for you guys?”

The response was thunderous and Stiles swore he could feel the ground shift under his feet as everyone jumped with excitement.

“Alright, well here we go. This one’s not ours, it’s a cover, but it holds a special significance for all of us,” Derek said, standing carefully and placing the mic back into the stand.

Stiles had never seen them do a cover before, not in any of the videos he could find. Maybe it was just a whim, something Derek or one of the other band members had wanted to do. Maybe it was just for this special occasion. The band readied itself, Erica wearing a mischievous smirk, Isaac’s eyes distantly sparkling, and Boyd calmly waiting for Derek’s cue. Stiles watched in awe, waited with bated breath.

“ _We’re running with the shadows of the night,_ ” Derek’s smooth vocals began, “ _so baby take my-_ ”

“ _-hand it’ll be alright_ ,” Erica joined him briefly.

“ _Surrender all your dreams to me tonight, they’ll come true in the eeeeeeend_ ,” Derek finished the lyric as the band’s instruments sprung to life. Isaac’s drums punctuated each intense verse. Boyd’s skillful bass rounded out the sound of Erica’s synth, which blasted a mix of electric guitar and piano.

Lydia’s sharp intake of breath as the song began drew Stiles’ attention away for a brief second.

“Pat Benatar. I _love_ this song,” she almost purred, the biggest smile Stiles had ever seen gracing her face.

His eyes were back to Derek in an instant. Stiles could feel the energy building, climbing toward the chorus. He studied Derek’s face, saw how small beads of sweat were already forming along his forehead, how his lips curved and shaped themselves into each syllable. He swore that he could feel Derek’s raw emotion in this song, more than in any song Stiles had ever seen them perform.

And that’s when Derek’s eyes locked right onto Stiles’. Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, but, miraculously, their shared gaze didn’t end, even as Derek dipped into the mic, lunging slightly with the motion.

“ _Baby take my hand it’ll be alright_ ” rang through Stiles’ head as it floated out of Derek’s mouth. He saw something flash in Derek’s eyes, just for a second. Something melted down inside Stiles, something that had already been warmed a week ago by his crush on Derek. Stiles breathing quickened, his heartbeat took off. Something was aflame inside him.

His overwhelming anxiety got the best of him as he was forced to drop his soul-searching stare by the unstoppable power of a massive blush and a more-than-slight hardening in his pants.

Stiles would never know it, but Derek’s heated gaze lasted long after.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Shannon](http://hypobones.tumblr.com/) for her input on this chapter! She's helping me through each little stumbling block I hit and I love her for it.
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr at [mostlysterek](http://mostlysterek.tumblr.com/), and my askbox is open to everyone :D!
> 
> Thanks for reading guys, hope you're enjoying it so far. Much more to come very soon :)
> 
> The title of this chapter was taken from [ "Head Over Heels"](http://open.spotify.com/track/0nYcq8VvWQCT81CDivJyTH) by Tears for Fears.


	3. Burning Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry that this took so god-awful long, guys. I honestly had a really tough time when I went at this chapter the first time, as finding a place where I was comfortable with how the dialogue between everyone went was an ORDEAL. But it's finally here! Thank you guys so much for waiting, I really hope you enjoy it.

Stiles was too amped to control himself. He was jumping around, near-screaming at Lydia as he retreaded literally _every_ aspect of Pack Mentality’s performance. He’d been blown away completely by each little detail, from their look to their presence to Derek’s gorgeous stubble-covered mug. Maybe he kept the last one to himself. Maybe that one was for private Stiles-time later.

“Wasn’t it just _amazing_ though?! It was the greatest thing I’ve ever _seen!_ ” He shouted, his hands coming out in front of him in upward-facing claws, making exasperated grabby-hands for more.

Lydia gave him a bit of a look, a small open-mouthed smile sneaking across her face despite it.

“Are you going to be ok or am I going to have to find a paramedic for when your heart explodes?” He swears he heard a little giggle escape her afterward.

“Well, I mean, you liked them right? Come on, I can’t be the only one who _loved_ their entire show, can I?” He gave her a gentle push.

“No, no, they were great. Amazing, actually. Following their opener with that Pat Benatar song cracked the crowd’s enthusiasm wide open.” She smiled more freely this time as they continued their march to where they were told their radio station handler would escort them backstage.

“For sure.”

There was a moment of silence as they reached their meeting place. Stiles pushed his hands into his pockets with a thoughtful face on. Lydia checked her makeup.

Stiles looked up at the starry night sky, taking in the sheer vastness of the nighttime. It was beautiful, a dark canvas smattered with white-blue specks of light. The moon was large and full, deliberately painted with texture and substance. Its rays descended down through the barely-clouded air, scattered slightly near their ends by the beginnings of the next morning’s fog.

As she closed her compact, Lydia followed his gaze upward. She counted the constellations, marking each mentally as if checking off a shopping list. The heavens were swimming with them, appearances inspired by man but arrangement destined by physics. There was an inescapable poetry to them.

“Thanks for inviting me tonight, Stiles,” she said, the silence dissolving in an instant.

“Huh? Yeah, no, of course. It was awesome to be able to take you.” He nodded a little, a slight smile curving across his face.

Lydia’s eyebrows knitted together slightly, giving Stiles the impression that she had more to say. The words didn’t come though, they were stuck behind her lips like molasses at the edge of a jar. But Stiles already knew. She didn’t have to say anything else.

The radio station rep soon appeared from within the tangled masses of people still exiting the venue. Stiles’ heart fluttered a little bit as they turned to follow the stout man. The moment was coming faster and faster, the moment where he would meet Derek Hale. He imagined himself reaching out his hand, grasping it firmly, Derek’s hands slightly rough, strong, Stiles would introduce himself and then wink, turning on the charm instantly. Stiles would sweet-talk him during the entire meet-and-greet, get Derek warmed up to him before casually slipping Derek his phone number during their parting handshake. He had it all planned out, down to every little minute detail.

And then he thudded into the back of the radio rep.

Right in front of Derek and the rest of Pack Mentality.

If there were a god, he’d strike Stiles down right now, end his suffering before it began.

Alas, the only sound Stiles heard was not that of thunder but the ripple of Erica’s voice as she burst into laughter as Stiles shambled his way up from the floor. Lydia’s hand reached out to offer support, giving him something to brace against as he tried to right himself, despite the nervous wobble that his knees had adopted. As soon as he was up and semi-stable Lydia’s hand was gone from him and extended toward the band.

“Hi. Lydia Martin,” her popular-girl smile was back, the smarmy charm accompanying it.

Derek took the offered hand, only a slight curve gracing his lips. He was always holding onto his gruff exterior.

“Derek Hale. This is Erica Reyes, Isaac Lahey, and Vernon Boyd.” Lydia shook each of their hands in turn.

Stiles brushed the tiny specks of dirt off his hands by way of his jeans, stretching out his hand to get his own round of introductions.

“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski,” he beamed at them, heart kicking into overdrive as he looked Derek in the eye for their handshake. Stiles could feel the flex in Derek’s arm as their hands locked for that short moment.

Then something unexpected happened. Something must’ve completely shut down in Stiles’ brain when he took that fall, because what should’ve stayed a complete fantasy enacted itself. Right. In front. Of everyone.

He winked.

Stiles _winked_ right at Derek Hale.

Derek started a little, pupils widening slightly and eyebrows furrowing down. He wasn’t quite sure if what he had just seen happened or not. Stiles’ hand unclasped from his with a jerk, leaving a clammy sensation on both their palms. Stiles was quick to shove his hands deep into his pockets, eyes downcast in embarrassment as his face flushed deep red at the cheeks.

“Well, well. Looks like we’ve got a little Casanova here,” Erica said, grinning snidely. “You gonna put the moves on our big bad wolf here?” A sharp smile spread across her face as Derek’s head instantly turned towards her.

“ _Erica,_ ” he hissed, eyebrows digging into the bridge of his nose.

She cackled and flopped down onto the small beaten up sofa that was on one side of the stark greenroom. Erica rested her arm on the back of it, angling her body toward the others, gesturing for everyone to come take a seat.

There was mostly just a mish-mash of furniture, a few stools, the one sofa, what looked like the remnants of an ottoman, and a shitty-looking coffee table that was probably seventy percent rot at this point in its lifetime. Along the far wall was a small foldable table that had a few stray food items on it, mostly bits and pieces left from the band’s pre-show stuff, probably. Near it were a few bags and what looked like Boyd and Derek’s instrument cases, sitting in a semi-neat pile in the corner.

Before Stiles could even think about making a move to sit, everything had filled up. Isaac sat down on the low ottoman, which puffed out a healthy helping of dirt and dust as his weight squished into it. Boyd took the shabbier stool, scooting the more stable looking one closer to Lydia. All that was left to sit on was the sofa or the coffee table.

Stiles cast a nervous glance over at Erica, whose eyes met his deviously. She grinned wide and patted the seat next to her. Stiles’ movement stuttered slightly but he had no other choice, because Derek had just taken the opposite side of the sofa.

_Shit._

He carefully plopped down between the two band members, shiftily glancing at the both of them from the corners of his vision. He was pretty sure that the slight fear-boner that he got from being so startlingly close to these two sex symbols was an appropriate response. No one would blame him. He wouldn’t blame him, if he were them. He swallowed anxiously, silently willing someone to talk and trying to think of as many elderly nuns as possible in order to keep more blood from rushing to his crotch.

Isaac broke the silence.

“So, you two won the radio station contest?” His smile was genuine, easy and pleased. He was probably the least overtly-intimidating of the band. Whether or not that hid something even more worrisome, Stiles was unsure, but for now he was just glad to have a distraction from the mountain of man that was Derek and the temptress known as Erica.

“Yeah! Yeah. I called into the station as often as I could for like… days,” his voice faltered a little bit at the end of the sentence. He wasn’t sure if that made him sound devoted or just catastrophically desperate. Isaac’s warming smile reassured him.

“That’s awesome, dude. Did you guys like the show?” Isaac questioned.

“They better have, I played my ass off out there,” Erica commented slyly. “It’s more difficult than it seems to double a guitar part.”

“Not now, Erica,” Boyd gave her a stern look.

“What? It’s not like they didn’t notice that he didn’t play. _Again_.” Erica’s face set itself in a sidelong sneer at Derek. Stiles reflexively ducked to dodge the blade that swung toward Derek from Erica’s eyes.

“It was amazing, honestly. Best concert I’ve ever been to.” Stiles eyes were glowing happily as he looked from one member of the band to the other. When his eyes made it to Derek, he was surprised to find him already looking at Stiles.

With a sharp intake of breath, Derek’s eyes were on Lydia.

“So how’d you like it? You’ve been kinda quiet,” he asked, a gruff expression overtaking the nigh-imperceptibly softer one that he’d just been casting toward Stiles.

Lydia smiled a thin smile, “It’s hard sometimes to get a word in when Stiles starts talking. But the show was excellent. Your bassist here really knows how to drive the rhythm.” She made not-so-subtle eyes at Boyd, the smile spreading out slightly.

There was a flicker in Boyd’s eyes and he leaned back just slightly, his posture shifting to something slightly more confident, which was an accomplishment considering the air of assuredness he already gave off. Stiles swore he caught a slight roll in Derek’s eyes.

Stiles turned toward Derek slightly, a little bravery surging into him. He could woo Derek Hale. It was possible. …Right?

“That cover you guys played was awesome, by the way. I’d never heard that song before, I don’t think, and you guys breathed such life into the lyrics. I could, uh, could really feel it,” Stiles licked his lips, that small surge of courage having leaked out of him, nervousness replacing it in waves.

Stiles saw Derek’s eyes dip down as Stiles’ tongue retreated back into his mouth. They snapped back up almost instantly. Derek looked around a little as his ears took on just a touch of pink. Derek shot up from his seat on the couch, wandering over to the little snack table.

“Glad you enjoyed it. It’s a pretty personal song for us,” Derek said, pouring himself a cup of water, leather jacket-clad back to the rest of the group.

“One of the first songs we ever played together,” Isaac chimed in, that simple smile persisting.

Erica huffed slightly, a softer smile than before coming over her.

“An old favorite from the days of listening to records together in Derek’s basement. Huh, Derek?”

Derek grunted his assent, leaning against the table as he turned back to the gathering and sipped his water. His eyebrows had sunk slightly.

“Your parents had a fucking amazing collection,” Boyd said, a morose tone slipping into the conversation.

The whole room suddenly became much tenser, even Isaac losing his smile and looking down. Derek’s expression had tightened, his jaw set. He crushed the empty cup with far too much force and threw it toward the trash can, missing by feet. Stiles could see that something had struck a nerve.

“Anyway,” Erica broke in, “there anything you guys want to get signed or anything? I hate to rush this but we’ve gotta start getting stuff packed up onto the tour bus. There’s a lot we’ve got to take care of while we’re in town.” She straightened herself up from her spot on the sofa next to Stiles.

“Wait we could have – Oh shit, I had no idea you guys were gonna sign stuff! I bought this huge poster with your faces and everything! I didn’t even think to bring it!” Stiles also didn’t think to filter his thoughts before they tumbled out of his mouth. He looked down to hide his embarrassment, his cheeks reddening.

It was Isaac, again, who helped him recover from the social suicide he was apparently attempting.

“Don’t worry, dude. We’ll find you something to take home. Both of you.”

Derek gave a small nod from where he was standing near the couch. He paused a moment, his face scrunching down on itself. There was a beat before Derek turned on his heel and headed for the bags in the corner. His hands found a black duffel bag and dug around inside for a bit, before he came back to the sofa with a cassette tape case and a Sharpie. He opened the case and pulled the tape out, scribbling his signature on it before capping the Sharpie and setting both down on the coffee table.

“Sign it,” Derek commanded after a moment slipped past.

They all signed it. Isaac, Boyd, then finally Erica. She took longer than the rest, and had a look about her the whole time, something intimidating and curious all at once. Derek snatched the tape away as soon as she finished putting it back into the case and handed it to Stiles.

Their fingers brushed with the each other’s as the tape changed hands. Stiles flushed instantly, snapping himself around to look back at Lydia, who had an amused expression. Derek’s hand flew to the back of his head and he rubbed it through his hair, trying to play the situation off.

“That’s uh… that’s an old demo tape of ours. All I ask is that you don’t post it online or anything. It’s kinda… personal,” Derek groused, “To all of us.”

Stiles turned back to him, the red in his cheeks mostly faded.

“I’d never think about doing that. This is like, the greatest thing I’ve ever been given. Thanks, so much, Derek- all of you. This has been better than I ever expected.”

Stiles’ hero worship was showing, but he didn’t care. He had a demo tape full of songs from Pack Mentality’s early days, something no one else had. And even if he had failed miserably at his plan to romance Derek into a night of sweet ecstasy, he’d at least done this well.

“Well, I guess we’d better get going then. Come on, Stiles,” Lydia said, purse in hand as she strode toward the door.

“Wait, but what about your gift?” Stiles questioned, gesturing to the tape.

“I’ve got what I wanted already.” She held up a small piece of paper, waving it around. Boyd grinned a little from his seat and Isaac passed him a questioning glance.

“It was nice meeting you all,” Erica cooed from her seat, twirling her curls around her finger. Her face was mischievous. She knew something no one else did. Stiles squinted at her, prompting nothing in response but a coy wave of her fingertips.

“Yeah… Bye guys. Thanks for this, and just, everything. That’s for making awesome music.” Stiles looked at Derek, soaking in everything he could, from the coiffed hair to the stubble that peppered his face to the way that even his clothing screamed _sex_. “Thanks, Derek.”

Derek nodded, his face softer than it had been a moment ago. Something in his eyes glinted at Stiles and it made Stiles swallow nervously as he turned and left with Lydia.

 

\------------

Stiles burst into his room, the door smacking the wall behind it as he flung it open.

“Come on, I know I have one somewhere!” Stiles exclaimed, scrambling around his room in search of a tape player. Who even used this kind of technology before? Could this even be considered technology? _Fuck_ he needed to find that tape player.

He opened his closet door and began to sift through the disorderly pile of dirty clothes, trying to find the floor or clear a space or _something_ so long as it got him closer to that tape player. He pulled open drawer after drawer, slamming each shut again after a quick pass through the sea of clutter with one hand.

He grabbed at his hair, groaning loudly at himself.

“I _just_ saw the thing not 3 days ago!”

In his frustration he kicked his dresser, piled high with junk he hadn’t found the time to put away yet. Something shifted and he jumped back as the pile went from solid to liquid and poured itself onto his floor. The tape player landed with a disturbingly sharp _thud_ on the puddle of debris.

_Yes!_

…and _OW!_

He grabbed the player and hobbled over to his desk, sitting down and clumsily plucking the cassette case from his sweatshirt pocket. It had a paper insert inside, hiding the signed tape. It was a hand-drawn picture of a wolf howling at a full moon. The colors were simple, scribbled into the outlines with colored pencils. In a way, Stiles figured this only spoke more toward the band’s history and its beginnings, about how new they were, about where they had come from.

What’s more, this was a present from _Derek_. It had been his idea to give it to Stiles. Even if this was just something Stiles was piecing together in his head, even if he had utterly bombed his longshot plan to get Derek’s interest, he had this, this small token.

Stiles kissed the case like it was some precious thing he’d found after years without it. Cliché, he realized, and dramatic, too. But fuck that, he was having the best night of his life.

He pressed the “Eject” button on the tape player, watching the lid pop open slowly. Stiles almost felt like he was about to listen to some sort of glorious secret, and in a way he was. This was something special, and unique. And it was his.

Stiles’ tongue flicked out over his lips in concentration and anticipation as he carefully opened the cassette case. The elbow that he’d been resting on the table slipped suddenly, causing him to fumble, a strange noise of surprise coming out of him as the cassette and its case tumbled out of his hands and onto the desk with a plastic clatter.

Stiles cursed his clumsiness, grasping his elbow in mild pain before checking to see if he’d damaged the tape. Nothing was broken, no shards of plastic scattered around or strip of magnetic tape poking out from anywhere.

But there was small piece of paper next to the case, folded in half neatly. Stiles picked it up hastily, opening it with a small pop.

There was a phone number.

With Derek’s name next to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter beta'd by the lovely [Shannon](http://hypobones.tumblr.com). She was timefoureaton but is now hypobones on both here and tumblr. If you're interested, she's writing a [McKirk fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/867524), which I'm beta'ing for her. As before, you can find me on [tumblr](http://mostlysterek.tumblr.com/) to always be up-to-date on when this has a new chapter out!
> 
> The title of this chapter is taken from ["Burning Hearts"](http://open.spotify.com/track/26VOYtU5aI6hA1Lxn3sCNN) by MNDR.


	4. Little Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles listens to the tape that Pack Mentality gave him and learns a lot more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important thing about this chapter: in a way, time is kinda fluid in this one. As you'll see when you read, Stiles manages to be in an interesting perspective. I wanted to give a full-fledged description of everything that had actually happened during the tape's recording, but it's filtered by Stiles' own perceptions. He's only hearing these things, imagining what could really be happening, but the descriptions of the events are to be trusted as what factually occurred. I apologize if it feels muddled as you read, but I could find no other way to write it that satisfied me.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy :)

Stiles paced his room, nervously thumbing the small slip of paper. He was holding onto it so tightly that he was afraid he would smudge the ink just from the pressure alone. It was 2 A.M. He’d been nervously fidgeting, flitting around through his bedroom, since he got back home at around midnight.

Derek had given him his _phone number._ His _cell phone number_. Stiles had actually done it, he’d wooed Derek Hale! His head was spinning, even now, not sure what this meant for him or for them, or if he was getting ahead of himself by even thinking there was a “them”. He definitely was. Definitely. He hadn’t even called him yet. Should he even call him? Why would Derek give him his number otherwise? Was he supposed to call him tonight? Tomorrow? When were they leaving town? Had they already left? Had he already fucked this up?

Stiles could hear his blood pumping in his ears. His heart was beating faster than most speed metal songs. He took a deep breath, trying to wave away some of the more panicky thoughts. He walked over to his bed and flopped down limply, ragdolling onto it with a slight bounce. The slip of paper was still clutched in his hand, crumpling a little where his fingertips clamped onto it.

He wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

Stiles flung himself back up from his bed, reeling a little bit as he stood and waited out the ensuing head-rush. He stumbled toward his desk and sat down, setting down the piece of paper and picking up the signed cassette tape. Was this thing rewound already? God, it’d been forever since he’d seen one of these things. Stiles carefully placed it into the tray of the tape player. He closed the lid with a click and pressed the play button.

He heard a crackle, like a hand being moved across a microphone.

“Is it on?” Erica’s voice.

“Why the fuck would I be messing with it if not to turn it on?” Derek’s voice bit back lightly, Isaac giggled a little in the background. Stiles could visualize Derek’s expression; eyebrows bunched together in incredulity, but otherwise soft.

“Boyd, are you sure this thing works?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, it’s old, but it records just fine.”

“Still don’t know why we’re putting it on a tape. Shit’s old-fashioned,” Erica said, popping her gum loudly afterward.

“Because it’s cool and indie and I wanna do it. Didn’t see you volunteer a way to record our sessions,” Boyd said. Stiles had a feeling that they all argued a lot, but maybe not seriously. They had all seemed so comfortable with each other. But, Stiles supposed, being on a tour bus will do that to you, even if years of friendship somehow didn’t. It reminded him of how he was with Scott.

Stiles heard the pop of a snare drum, Isaac’s way of telling everyone to shut up.

“Let’s just do this, ok?” Isaac said, followed by a sound of agreement from Derek. Derek cleared his throat briefly, a guitar riff accompanying it, getting slightly quieter as Derek stepped back to his place with the band.

“This is Pack Mentality, covering ‘Shadows of the Night’ by Pat Benatar.” Isaac gave a count off, clicking his sticks together on the beats.

Stiles listened to this section over and over, rewinding the tape back to the start each time. He was vaguely worried that he would wear it out. He’d forgotten that that was possible with these things. Every time he listened to it, his mind drew a better picture. Stiles could almost see them as if he had been there. Derek had propped the tape recorder up against a couple books, hoping to get some sort of angle for better recording. Erica was standing near a much shabbier keyboard than the one she had used for the concert. This one was older, probably bought from a pawn shop or handed down from an older sibling. Isaac’s drum kit was a mish-mash of pieces, all bought separately. He had a poorly tuned bass drum, and the cymbals were dented on one side. Boyd’s bass had strings there were on their last legs, but he still played them with confidence.

But Stiles could see Derek the best. Derek was wearing a tank top, black, because it was hot in the small basement room they used for practice. A dusting of chest hair poked out from the collar. His jeans were ripped at the left knee and frayed at the ends from where his heels rubbed them ragged whenever he dragged his feet. Whenever he went to fiddle with the recorder, Derek had his guitar pick in his mouth, clenched softly between his lips. The pick was purple, marbled and shiny. Derek’s stubble was thickening. He’d gotten lazy during the summer months and didn’t feel like shaving often.

It was when Derek played that Stiles fell furthest into the scene. Derek’s guitar playing was masterful, rough and powerful, but fluid and controlled enough to complete their sound. Erica wasn’t doubling him at all, and it showed in the increased complexity of her piano parts. This sound, the sound of Derek and his guitar, it was like watching two people dance. They moved in tandem, in perfect unison. They swayed and stepped and courted each other like long-lost lovers who had shared one kiss long ago, and that kiss had destined them to be together. It was magical.

As the song finished yet again, Stiles let the tape keep playing, moving around his room a little to clean up the puddle of stuff that had fallen off of his dresser and busy himself. There was some chatter going on, Derek was pointing out things that they could’ve done better, things they could change for next time.

“Why do we even play that song?” Erica broke in, interrupting Derek as he talked with Boyd about getting new strings. “Why play it on a tape we’re supposed to be using for a demo? They don’t want to hear Pat Benatar. They want to hear _us_.” Her gum snapped again, giving the final syllable an especially pointed bite.

Discordant and terrible piano was the next thing Stiles heard, as someone – Derek – mashed his hands on it, leaning in to Erica’s face, his own suddenly reddened and pained. Derek’s expression was straining, his jaw set hard, enraged. But it softened slowly, then all at once, as his eyes welled up with tears and he backed away, coming closer to the recorder.

“…It reminds me of them.” Derek’s voice sounded choked, stiff, hollow. Stiles could hear Isaac get up, drumsticks clicking as he set them down on his stool. His hand found Derek’s shoulder, trying to offer comfort. Derek shrugged it off, but didn’t push him away. Derek sniffed slightly before resetting his expression, blinking back the tears that were about to come.

“I’m fine, Isaac. I’m fine.” Isaac nodded at him and went back to his seat.

“I think that’s good enough for now,” Derek said dryly, and then there was the sound of the hand-over-microphone, followed by a click. Stiles dropped the stack of books he’d been tidying down onto his bed, going to check on the tape player and leaving them to slowly lean before toppling off the side. The tape was still spooling, but there was only the sound of white noise. Just as he was about to stop it, another click came through the speakers.

“There we go! Derek usually does this.” Isaac’s voice, louder at first, but quieter as he walked back to his drum kit.

“Where’s he at again? He’s 15 minutes late.” Erica asked, an air of annoyance hiding a slightly concerned tone. She drummed her fingers absently on the hard plastic above her keys.

“Not sure. He didn’t call me or anything,” Boyd said, heavy footfalls revealing that he was pacing.

“Me either. I left the back door unlocked just in case he shows up without saying something,” Isaac chimed in, tapping little beats lightly on his cymbal.

There was about five more minutes of nervous near-silence, sounds of everyone fidgeting around uncomfortably. Stiles wondered at it for a while before he realized what had them all so agitated; Derek was their glue, their common ground. He balanced them out and kept them from drifting apart. Erica was brash, energetic, and had a biting sense of humor. Isaac was happy, warm, but more reserved. Boyd was quiet and strong, aloof and calm. Each of them had something Derek had and something Derek lacked. They were like a puzzle, each linking together to form the whole picture. Without Derek things just didn’t fit properly.

“Ok, let’s get something done, at least,” Erica said, her piano stand creaking a little as she used it to pull herself up from sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Let’s break out the stuff we had put together for the new opener.” There was a rustle of papers shuffling around, a nervous cough from Isaac.

“Can we take it faster than last week? The tempo feels weird for me where it’s at right now,” Isaac asks, tapping the bass pedal lightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that,” Erica said, an unfamiliar shake to her voice. They were all so unsettled without Derek. Stiles wondered where he could be, why he would miss a practice that he himself likely scheduled.

“Give us the tempo, Isaac. We’ll come in after 4,” Erica says, tossing a glance at Boyd, who nods his agreement.

Stiles listened to the song, surprised at how broken it sounded. Without Derek’s part it was bland, but that’s expected. It was worse than that, though. Boyd sounded out of tune, Erica’s syncopation was off, and Isaac couldn’t keep a steady beat going. It was a fucking train wreck if Stiles was being honest. He could feel the tension after the song ended, after Erica stopped singing Derek’s lyrics and Isaac’s cymbals stopped reverberating. The quiet was heavy and strained, pressing down on them all.

Stiles fidgeted in his seat. He clicked the stop button down on the tape player, letting out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. Stiles turned around in his chair, twisted around to see his alarm clock. 4 A.M., the red lights told him. He was unsure if he should keep listening to the tape, was unsure why Derek even gave it to him. It didn’t have a label, so he supposed it could’ve been an easy mistake to make. But it did have the cover, so that theory is just as easily tossed out. His finger hovered over the play button as he thought, and finally it pressed down and the sound came again.

It picked right back up after the song, Erica cleared her throat, may have taken a drink of water.

“I think we should call this one off.” And that was all she needed to say. Isaac and Boyd were silent, but the sounds of equipment moving and instruments being packed away demonstrated their assent. Erica walked toward the tape recorder with a sigh. There was a noise of fingers rubbing across buttons as she tried to work out how to turn it off.

“Isaac, how the fuck do y-“ _Click_. White noise once again.

Five seconds passed by. Then another five. Then ten. Then the click again. Derek’s voice came first, sturdy and stoic.

“Let’s go over the new song.” He stepped back into position. Erica offered no sly crack, no witty retort. 

“Count us off, Isaac.” The clicking of the sticks came just after the words.

It only took Stiles half a verse to realize what had changed. There was no guitar. No real guitar, that is. Erica’s work was shaky, but she was doubling the guitar part as best she could, the old synth not as good as her current model. Derek sang, as always, and that was awesome, sure. But now, now that Stiles knew what it was like to hear Derek play his guitar like it was his lover, to hear him delve into the music fully, to immerse himself in it like it was water, icy and stinging, lovely and life-giving, the whole thing just left Stiles feeling confused. Each verse of this song – which had become the title track of their first album – was so unfamiliar sounding, despite the enormous play count it had on Stiles’ laptop. It made him… uncomfortable. He fast-forwarded to the next break of silence.

The next few hours passed without so much import as the first few. No other discussions came up on the tape, no other captured or stolen moments, just band practice. Stiles listened to get better, mentally watched them grow. Erica stopped being so sharp with Isaac, Boyd warmed up to them both. The only one who didn’t change was Derek. He stayed gruff and sturdy but now Stiles knew there was something hidden under there. Derek’s paint was chipped but he covered it well.

Stiles slunk over to his bed at 6:30 A.M. His energy had drained so far that even anticipation could no longer sustain him through this all-nighter. The tape had run its course 15 minutes prior and Stiles had run out of things to shuffle around to make it look like he had cleaned. His eyelids had grown heavy, his head was full of thoughts, full of emotion. He adjusted himself as those thoughts shifted to thoughts of Derek.

He thought about what he could do to Derek, or what Derek could do to him. He thought about being pressed up against the wall or down into his bed. Stiles bit his lip and palmed himself through his jeans, his growing erection beginning to strain through his jeans. These pants were too fucking tight for this.

As he unbuttoned them he imagined that his hands were Derek’s, that Derek was hovering over him, lips red and puffy from making out, from spending too much time tonguing the inside of Stiles’ mouth. He imagined how Derek’s weight would feel on top of him as he reached into his underwear, grabbing hold of himself carefully. Still too tight. He slid the jeans off, kicking them to the side of the room. Much better. Stiles stroked himself slowly, long pulls that made him squirm just a little. He bet that Derek would make him squirm a _lot_.

Stiles thought about grabbing Derek’s hips and pulling them down onto his own, grinding themselves together through their jeans. The idea alone made Stiles moan softly. Call him easy, but this was Derek Hale, not some high school crush. He sped up his strokes, tugging faster and faster at himself as he imagined Derek leaning down to suck on his earlobe, to bite it and kiss his neck below it, his stubble scraping excellently against Stiles’ skin.

Stiles’ cheeks flushed pink as his breathing picked up pace. He was writhing now, hand fisting up and down his length, sending dizzying waves of pleasure throughout his body. Panting hard, he arched up into his hand, losing all sense of rhythm as he came to thoughts of Derek’s breath on his collarbone, tongue darting out to pin-prick his moles. Derek’s name escaped his lips almost silently, riding on the coattails of a heaving breath.

He sighed heavily, relaxing back into the bed. The imaginary Derek was gone now. All that was left was Stiles and his sticky underwear. He stripped them off carefully and tossed them into the dirty laundry pile in his closet. He checked the clock as he rounded the edge of the bed on his way back. 6:45. He could probably shower right now, just to blow some more time before he drew up the courage to call Derek.

Thinking about it like that made him apprehensive. Stiles would actually have to be calling Derek in a few hours. His excitement was turning to dread, sinking in his stomach like a hot stone. But then he thought about what he had heard on the tape, what he’d fantasized about just now.

He’d call Derek.

And then he’d have a panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter!
> 
> As always, feel free to drop me a line on my [tumblr](http://mostlysterek.tumblr.com/), as my ask box is the best way to reach me. Come by with questions, comments, tips, anything :D! Hopefully the next chapter will be up shortly, I've started a new job and I'm trying to find time to keep going with it, so I apologize if there happens to be a long wait.
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from ["Little Talks"](http://open.spotify.com/track/0uZ0orE84drZZzPKxCWSmR) by Of Monsters And Men.


	5. Closing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek receives a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried Derek POV for this one. Hope it reads well, but Derek's definitely pretty troubled. He hides it well. Enjoy :)

Derek woke up lazily, comfortably. It was strange. For the first time in… well, in a very long time, he’d slept with some semblance of ease. Everything felt weird, and his mind was foggy. He groaned a little as he sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands. Derek was slightly hoarse, like after every concert. He needed his peppermint tea.

As he headed into the small kitchenette of his hotel suite he thought about the night before. Derek had felt such unfamiliar sensations last night, such different things than what he’d grown used to. And it was all because of that enormous idiot who’d managed to grab backstage passes. Derek wasn’t in favor of doing the radio contest, but had known is was in the best interest of the band. All publicity is good publicity, and if they could get extra air time just by giving away two passes, that was probably a great deal. He’d expected the person who’d won to be obsessive, a little bit ridiculous, and possibly psychotic, but he hadn’t expected him to be so damn _cute_.

Derek chided himself for the thought. Derek didn’t think it was right to be attracted to fans, and he thought it was reprehensible to prey on them for sex like some musicians did. And it would _definitely_ be preying. Stiles had looked to be 16, maybe, _maybe_ 17\. Derek wasn’t up-to-snuff on Californian consent laws, but he was pretty damn sure that Stiles was underage. The fact that Derek found him attractive, more attractive than he’s found someone in recent memory, made him feel squeamish and slightly disgusted with himself.

Best not to worry about though, he thought. Stiles was gone now and Derek would likely never see him again. Overall, this was probably a good way for things to turn out. Derek nodded to himself a little bit as he sipped his tea. The smooth warmth felt good across his vocal cords, and the flavor was pleasing. He relaxed against the counter, looking across the hotel room. He’d be here for a few more days. Erica had rushed them out of the venue the previous night, and though he hadn’t been sure why, he’d been thankful. The less time Derek had in contact with Stiles, the better.

He was suspicious of her, regardless. He was always suspicious of Erica. She’d always tried to push him, to egg him on or goad him into something. Sometimes she got the better of him and it worked, but he’d grown accustomed to it over the years and her effectiveness had waned. He took another sip of his tea, holding the navy blue mug up to his lips with both hands. He licked them as he lowered it.

The memory of what Stiles’ lips had looked like came back to him in a flash. They were just-bitten pink, full and beautiful. Derek had wanted to bite them again, keep them that rough pink color. He’d wanted to do a lot to Stiles, a lot more than just kiss him.

Derek waved the thoughts away again, trying to ignore his dick as it swelled slightly with arousal. He shouldn’t be thinking about a fan that way. It wasn’t right. He set his now-empty mug down next to the sink. Derek padded to the bed, scratching his chest absently. It was 10 A.M. according to the alarm clock. He sat down on the edge of the bed, sighing a little bit.

The sheets were dry, not covered in sweat like they often were when he got up first thing in the morning. Derek had night terrors at first. He used to wake up screaming and crying, cheeks stained with thick trails of tears. He never really remembered the nightmares that caused them, just remembered the fire. He’d learned to deal with them eventually. Derek would burst awake in the middle of the night, his whole body trembling, the bed soaked with sweat and his pillow wet with tears. Taking the deepest breaths he could, he’d reach for his father’s old leather jacket, carefully placed by his bedside. He’d put it on and just breathe him in, taking in the earthy and familiar scent, warm and comforting. After a while, it had made things better. He stopped waking up a total wreck, and even the nightmares had started to fade. It had taken years, but he was on the road to recovery.

But then he’d lost Laura, too, and everything went back to the way it had been those years before, just after the fire. He was still broken now, probably would never get back to normal, let alone where he was before he found himself completely alone. At least after the fire he’d had Laura.

Derek tried to push those thoughts away too, tried to shove them back into the mental box he kept them in. Sometimes it was already full, sometimes it was bursting at the seams, but right now he was capable of it. The band had helped him a lot with the ordeal, with dealing with it, even if he never told them that they did. Their presence kept him grounded, made him feel like he had some sort of family left. Derek would never admit it to them, he was too proud for that, but it was good for him to have them. With them around, the nightmares still came, but he didn’t wake up screaming.

The fact that he’d slept soundly last night was unsettling due to how different it was. Derek wondered at it, his eyebrows sinking on his brow, mouth turning down in thought. His train of thought was derailed before it even left the station by the noisy vibration of his cell phone against the top of his bedside table. His tongue passed between his lips and back briefly as Derek reached over to retrieve the phone. The number it showed was unfamiliar, but had a Beacon Hills area code. He answered it just in case it was someone important, someone from the venue maybe.

“Hello?” Derek said, clearing his throat before answering. He waited for a reply, but none came save the beep of his phone when the call ended abruptly. Derek pulled it away from his ear and eyed the screen. He sighed and went to set it back down on the dresser, but just as he was about to let go it vibrated again.

“ _Hello?_ ” He said again, agitation creeping into his voice.

“Uh-uh yeah, hi. Um. Is-Is this Derek Hale?” A male voice said through the receiver, cracking slightly over the syllables of his name.

“It is. Who’s this?”

“Um. It’s… uh, it’s…” The voice was shaking now. Derek cleared his throat gruffly, his free arm crossing over his chest.

“Sorry! I’m just, really, _really_ nervous… It’s Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. From the concert last night?” Derek’s heartbeat jumped suddenly, his pupils blasting open with surprise.

Holy _shit_. How did Stiles even… Derek hadn’t given him his number, that would’ve made him look bad and would’ve gone against everything he stood for, or what he liked to think he stood for. Derek heard a little whining sound from the phone, and a few whispered words of anxiousness.

“Yeah, the backstage pass guy,” Derek said, trying to play it cool and act like he wasn’t stiffening in his pants. “Where’d you get this number?”

“Y-you mean you didn’t slip it in with the cassette? I just- I’m sorry, I thought you’d- I’ll hang up and die now.”

“No!” Derek cried out, knowing that it made him sound over-eager and excited, an impression he did _not_ want to give this boy.

“I mean, no, I didn’t put it in there, but I’m not complaining that it got to you.” Derek could feel the blush well up on his cheeks, and heard a sigh of both exasperation and relief escape Stiles’ mouth. So much for not giving him false hope. He’d worry about how Stiles had gotten his number later; right now he had a distractingly sexy teenager to talk to.

“Uh, I, I honestly didn’t think I would get this far, sorry. I’m kinda out of things to say.” Stiles said, a nervous laugh following. Derek could hear muffled cursing, along with “Good going, Stilinski”, and it put a small smile on his face.

“Well, what would you have wanted to say if you had thought you would make it here?” Derek leaned back on his bed, shifting a little to get comfortable against the bunched-up sheets. Derek knew why he wanted Stiles to be calling, what he _hoped_ Stiles was calling for.

“Umm… I-I guess I would want to ask you something,” Stiles said, swallowing. Derek’s smile grew wider and his face flushed again. Why the hell could this kid make him blush like a schoolgirl?

“…Yes?” Derek prompted, heartbeat rising again, betraying his calm tone.

“Do you wanna… maybe, I dunno… Get coffee or something? Maybe today? I mean, if that doesn’t work for you we can reschedule. Or maybe you don’t like coffee. Or maybe you’re not interested. Or just, maybe, _something_ ,” Stiles blurted out, tumbling over his own words. Derek laughed audibly, not catching it before it came out.

Derek let the moment hang a little bit, considering the question, considering what it could lead to. He knew he should say no, that he should politely turn Stiles down. Stiles was too young, Derek had too much to deal with already; he wasn’t even sure if he was going to be in town very much longer. The entire situation said “no”, but Derek wanted so badly to say yes. It was against his better judgment, but…

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds pretty nice,” Derek said, the smile returning to his face. Suddenly, the line erupted with a crash and a pained “Oof!”

“I’m ok! I just- that wasn’t the response I was expecting, or that I would ever expect.” Stiles said, his embarrassment more prominent than ever. Derek found it endearing, and found himself laughing again.

“So, should I, uh, just, like, meet you there, or…?” Stiles trailed off.

“You haven’t even told me which coffee shop,” Derek said evenly, wanting to play with Stiles a little more before finishing the call.

“Oh, shit, uh… Shit, shit, shit…” Derek could hear Stiles pacing around nervously. This must’ve been another thing Stiles didn’t think he’d make it to.

“Tell you what, meet me at the one near the old movie theater. It’s one of my favorites,” Derek suggested, smiling again. The choice was strategic. If things went well, he could probably talk Stiles into a movie. If things went _extremely_ well, he could maybe bring him back to his hotel room, which was close by. Derek loved every part of that idea. He shouldn’t, but he was in this deeply already, might as well keep going for consistency’s sake.

“Yes! Yes, I can- Yes,” Stiles stuttered, excitement coating every word. Derek sat up on the bed, checking the time.

“How about we meet in two hours? That’ll put us at about lunch time, good time to get coffee and a few snacks.” Derek was a master at playing coy, or at least sounding like he was. Every single part of his body was vibrating with energy, with excitement. He wondered if Stiles would, before the night was done, let Derek kiss him.

When did Derek become a horny teenager? When did he start to think that this would even be ok? Derek started to get angry with himself. Hadn’t he just been thinking about how wrong this was? How much it was like being a predator? This guy, this _boy_ , didn’t even know what he was getting himself into! Derek was a fucked up individual, and Stiles would _not_ want to be involved with that mess. Not to mention the fact that Stiles wasn’t even an adult yet. Derek shouldn’t even be _looking_ , let alone wanting to _touch_. A fist formed in the sheets, rumpling the cheap cloth even further. Stiles’ soothing voice broke him out of his funk.

“So I guess I’ll see you then, yeah? Ok. Um. I guess this is bye,” Stiles’ voice was shaking slightly again. Derek had an idea of why.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek said, “I promise I’ll be there, ok? I wouldn’t think of blowing you off.” Saying the words helped to ease Derek’s mind about the whole meeting. He _would_ be there. The truth behind the words, their honesty, made him feel less like some animal taking advantage of (practically) a child.

“…Thanks, Derek. I’ll see you at around noon.” Stiles’ voice was comfortable again, smooth and pleasant, like Derek’s tea had been. Once again, Derek was all smiles.

“Definitely, Stiles,” Derek said, waiting for Stiles to hang up before he removed the phone from his ear. Derek heard a heavy exhale and quiet “ _Yes!_ ” before the distinct sound of the call disconnecting.

A happy sigh escaped Derek’s lips, leaving his lungs warm with contentment. He jumped up from the bed, a surprising spring in his step. He can’t recall having a day like this, one that started so well and showed no signs of going to shit. He’s got a coffee/lunch date with a cute guy, had a great concert last night, and hasn’t been bothered by the band or anyone else just yet. He’s even been smiling today, a lot more than he usually allows himself to. In a way, Stiles has really disarmed him, almost to the point that Derek wonders if it’s ok, if it’s alright to let himself get like this. He feels unguarded, and it makes him wary.

But again, those thoughts are for the box. Derek files them away, keeping the positive in the forefront of his mind. Cute boy, coffee, maybe a movie, good day. Derek makes it a mantra. Cute boy, coffee, good day. Cute boy, coffee, good day.

He gathers up some clothes to wear for the date and heads to the shower, a soft smile set into his lips.

_Good day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone :D I'm reading every comment this gets and will hopefully be getting around to actually responding sometime soon ^^; As always, feel free to head on over to my [tumblr](http://mostlysterek.tumblr.com), where you can find more stuff that I've done and a lot of other Teen Wolf things that people more talented than me have done. I'm also accepting ficlet prompts for [Operation Positivity](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/Operation%20Positivity), so feel free to send me those via my ask box :)
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely [Julia](http://correlationimpliescausation.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from the song ["Closing In"](http://open.spotify.com/track/5ikXKjS7HTqeJbo7Wmiayg) by Imogen Heap.


	6. Kiss Kiss Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles meet for their date, and the fluff hits the fan.

Derek pulled his sunglasses off as he walked into the small coffee shop. He had changed into a light gray Henley shirt, some blue jeans, tighter than usual, and had styled his hair just-so. Derek was going to make an impression, one that – he hoped – would blow Stiles away. He scanned the shop slowly, eyeing from one far corner to the next. One member of the staff was bussing a table near the window, mostly just wiping it down over and over, trying to look busy. A man in an overly-expensive black suit was ordering a complicated coffee from an exasperated cashier. The only other person visible from where Derek stood had his head down, busy with making an elaborate structure out of folded napkins, all while holding a straw between his upper lip and nose.

As the man in the too-good-for-you suit walked away from the counter, Derek stepped forward, passing a thin smile at the cashier before ordering a medium coffee, light sugar and with just a hint of milk. When he gave the cashier his name, he heard a clatter from his right, followed by a cry of “Oh my god!”

Stiles had fallen out of his chair, napkin sculpture smashed and straw jammed partially into his nostril. His eyes widened as he realized Derek was looking right at him and he tore the straw from his face like Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, but far less gracefully. Stiles’ face was beet-red, riddled with embarrassment. Derek’s face, however, was contorted into a wider smile than had graced it in months, maybe years. There were teeth showing, maybe even a small laugh escaping. He grabbed his coffee from the barista, slipping a quick “thank you” as he walked over to the table Stiles was currently clambering back into.

“Hey! Hadn’t realized it was you without that sweatshirt,” Derek said, sitting in the seat across from him as Stiles’ face flushed anew. Stiles licked his lips and nodded, fiddling with the severely bent straw.

“Yeah, yeah. I, uh, I had gotten here a little early so I decided to get us a table,” Stiles replied, nodding again. Derek glanced at the clock, knowing he himself had tried to get here early as well. 11:38. Anticipation had gotten the best of both of them. Derek took a sip of his coffee, watching Stiles tap his fingers on the tabletop nervously. Derek set his cup down, passing his tongue over his lips to get whatever got left behind. If he did it a little slower than was necessary, that was no one’s business but his.

“So. Stiles Stilinski. How’d you get my number?” Derek’s face turned up slightly, smirking at Stiles, at the way he knew Stiles would squirm under the question.

“Honestly, it fell out of the tape, just fell out. I don’t know how it got there, I just – you don’t think I’m a stalker or something do you?” The boy could talk, mostly in bursts. He was a bundle of nerves, and Derek couldn’t wait to unravel them with every pin-prick touch and gentle caress.

“No, no, I think you’re definitely on the weirder side, but I believe you.” Derek smiled softly at Stiles. Stiles smiled back, crooked and happy. Derek thought about leaning in, taking Stiles’ jaw in his hand and pulling him in for a kiss, long and rough and wanting. Then the doubt kicked in, the doubt at whether Stiles would be ok with that, if Derek himself would be ok with that. Sure, he wanted to do it now, but what if he were to ruin this kid somehow? A kiss might not do it, but would Derek be able to stop at a kiss?

“So I know I probably shouldn’t ask you a lot about your music or anything,” Stiles said calmly, twiddling a bit of napkin between his fingertips, breaking Derek from his trance, “bad form for a date or whatever, I guess, talking about jobs and careers and stuff, but I thought I’d let you know how much I loved everything about the concert last night. It was amazing to get to meet all of you, even if I made a giant idiot of myself,” a nervous laugh escaped Stiles’ mouth, “but… Yeah.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile at Stiles, at the honesty in his voice. He seemed to be doing that an awful lot lately, smiling.

“You’re no idiot, Stiles. From what I gather, you’re a klutz and you talk too much, possibly way too much, but you’re also smart, resourceful.” Derek withheld the “sexy”, saving that one for later.

“See, but I don’t get how you figure that. You’re jumping to conclusions on a lot of this aren’t you? You’d never seen me before last night, but now you’re not only getting coffee with me, but you’re complimenting me and flashing that stupid attractive grin and just…” Stiles sighed heavily, blinking his eyes, “I don’t know if I can handle this level of rom-com.”

“Well, we could always make it more like one.” With that, Derek’s hand came across the table, his fingers reaching out for Stiles’, slowly wrapping around them, gently holding his hand. The way Stiles stared at him, dumbfounded, was amazing. Every expression he made, every single exaggerated face; Derek could drink them in for days.

Derek waited for the inevitable pull, the withdrawal of Stiles’ hand from his, the awkward smile and the embarrassment that would flood Stiles’ face with red heat, Stiles tilting his head down, looking up only when it had left again. But it didn’t come. Instead, Stiles looked him right in the eyes, softly, endearingly. Stiles adjusted their hands, adding his other to wrap around Derek’s. It made Derek’s pupils grow wide, shocked. He’d mostly been playing with Stiles, toying with him just a little, not wanting to push this so much. Clearly, however, Stiles had other ideas. There was a beat before Derek found himself withdrawing his hand from between both of Stiles’.

“Sorry, I just – your hands are nice.” Stiles coughed a little, biting his lip subconsciously and turning his head to look toward the front counter. Derek was taken aback. It was one thing for him to be forward, he could justify it as teasing, as not having any weight behind it – no matter how untrue that was – but for Stiles to accept it, to reciprocate it, was…

“Yours are too. They’re soft.” They were also slim, long, beautiful, and Derek’s body ached at the thought of what those fingers could do, where and how they could wander. He imagined, briefly, Stiles tracing patterns up and down his body, painting Derek like a canvas, watercolor stripes across his ribcage. Stiles would make his nerves sing like caged birds finding their freedom on the tips of his fingers, taking wing on breathless moans.

Stiles gulped the rest of his coffee down, Derek having lost himself in thought. Stiles made a move to get up, asking Derek if he wanted another or maybe a cookie or something, but Derek waved him off with a smile. Derek looked out the nearby window at the slightly overcast sky, thinking about asking Stiles if he’d like to go for a walk. It was nice enough out, not too hot, less humid than usual.

A large black coffee, three chocolate chip cookies, and a raspberry tea, with two straws, accompanied Stiles back to his seat.

“Sorry, I know you said you didn’t want anything, but-“

“No, no, this is fine,” Derek cut him off, taking a sip of the tea. It was light and refreshing, and the idea of it a little adorable, like they were some ‘50s couple sharing a milkshake. Derek played with a sugar packet on the table, letting the comfortable silence that had settled over them stay. He liked being close to Stiles, and as much as he liked to watch Stiles talk, his silence was even more beautiful. You could tell that Stiles was thinking, that his brain was working steadily, processing something, needing enough power that it was necessary to shut off his mouth for a while.

When it finally came back online, Derek wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear.

“…Can I hold your hand some more?” Stiles said, looking up from a half-eaten cookie. His expression was unguarded, raw and open.

“ _More?_ On the first date? What am I, some sort of hussy?” Derek feigned shock and hurt, not being able to hold the illusion for very long as a smile broke out across his face. “Yes, Stiles… Of course you can,” Derek said softly, sliding his hand, palm up, across the table toward Stiles.

Stiles’ hand clasped Derek’s loosely, his thumb gently stroking the heel. Stiles’ nail inscribed little spirals into Derek’s roughened flesh, a soft smile spreading on his lips. Their eyes met, and they shared a gaze for much longer than either had expected.

“God… you are such a distraction, it’s not even fair,” Stiles huffed, a mocking tone to his exasperation. Derek let out a small laugh, resting his chin on an upturned fist.

“And why is that, exactly?”

“Because I’ve had two enormous cups of coffee and like a million grams of sugar; I should be bouncing off every wall right now and accomplishing several tasks at once. Yet all I can manage to do is lose myself in figuring out what exactly to call your eye color,” Stiles trailed off, his ears going pink at the tips. It made Derek feel warm inside, fuzzy and content. Admittedly, it was a bit of a foreign feeling – until today – but he welcomed it like an old friend.

“We can’t all have big, beautiful amber irises like you, can we?” Derek grinned, “Where would the fun be in that?” Stiles whole face went red again, and Derek would never get tired of causing it. He absently rippled his fingers against the underside of Stiles’ hand, further losing himself in the small contact. Derek’s eyes went to the window again, contemplating that walk more seriously now. He could hold Stiles’ hand the whole way, swinging it slightly with each step and getting to know him better with each footfall.

“Derek?” Stiles spoke up, ending the short silence. Derek’s eyes were on him again and he gave an acknowledging nod. “D’you maybe wanna get out of here? I know we only talked about getting coffee and stuff, but if I spend any more time in here I’ll end up going bankrupt. Once I get caffeine I have to do something with it or I’ll just drink more and more and more and maybe on your rockstar salary you can afford it, but I don’t have any cash at all, not even a job, and so I’m just sayin-“

“How about a walk?” Derek cuts him off with a grin, ending the ever-accelerating ramble. “Just a quick one. I think there’s a park nearby, and if not, I _know_ there’s a movie theater.” Stiles grins wide at the mention of the movie theater, Derek’s own mouth following suit. His mind wanders again, pants getting tight with the thought of climbing on top of Stiles in the back row, kissing him hard, sucking Stiles’ lips between his own and grinding down on top of him.

Derek would make sure to steer clear of the park.

\-----

Stiles grabbed their drinks off the counter, a large popcorn hugged in the crook of his arm. He beamed at Derek as Derek grabbed the three giant boxes of Nerds that Stiles had politely demanded. They headed for Theater 6, walking much too eagerly for their own good.

They plopped down in the back row, just below the projector window. By the looks of it, they were the only ones in the theater. The pre-previews were rolling, advertising the movie theater, all their combo deals and sales. Derek shifted anxiously in his seat. The sooner the movie started, the sooner he could throw himself on Stiles. He wasn’t even sure what they were seeing, they just bought two tickets to the next movie that was playing. The only reason they even bought snacks was because Stiles was insatiable. Secretly, Derek hoped that his appetite would carry over to more interesting things.

His hand found Stiles’ leg as the opening credits began to roll. Stiles had already nervously consumed one whole box of Nerds and half of the bag of popcorn. Derek squeezed his thigh reassuringly, wanting to make sure Stiles felt comfortable. Stiles slipped his hand into Derek’s as they sat and watched the first few minutes of the movie.

The movie was boring, some badly written comedy, but Stiles, Stiles was exciting. His leg bounced absently, their hands resting in each other’s on the arm rest. Derek gave it a squeeze, turning his head to smile warmly at Stiles. Stiles smiled back, the apples of his cheeks pinking slightly. Derek decided to make more of a move, separating his hand from Stiles’ and bringing his arm around to curl it on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles shifted under it, licking his lips nervously, leg bouncing faster.

“…Is this ok?” Derek asked, nodding his head toward his outstretched arm.

“Uh yeah, yeah it’s-it’s fine. I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m really nervous,” Stiles choked out. Derek looked at him, concern rising into its features.

“Stiles, I… I wouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, if you-“

“Don’t, no, don’t give me the ‘sexual consent’ talk. I get it, I do. I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to,” Stiles said, his voice firm, “but right now I’m just freaking out because you’re like the hottest guy I’ve ever seen and I’m just… me.” Stiles’ head dipped down, turned slightly away from Derek. “And right now I’m just wondering when you’re gonna kiss me.”

Stiles turned his face back to Derek, biting the inside of his lip. His eyes were full of anticipation, of expectance, and as his tongue passed across his lips for the millionth time since they sat down at the coffee shop that day, Derek couldn’t wait any longer.

He leaned in quickly, taking Stiles’ face gently in his hand, pressing their lips together unchastely. Stiles took a beat, stunned, before he kissed back, tugging hungrily at Derek’s lips with his own. The sound of smacking lips filled the small theater as Derek’s hand found Stiles’ neck, his thumb gently tracing over his Adam’s apple and he took Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth. He was surprised when Stiles suddenly began to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Derek apologized, his face reddening rapidly as he turned away to hide it, “I thought that would be ok.”

“What?! Dude, it’s way more than ok, it’s-it’s, well it’s fucking awesome! I just, uh, I think I forgot how to breathe?” Stiles said with a wheezy laugh.

Derek turned back to him, back to his smiling, arousal-flushed face.

“Do…” Derek huffed, hating himself for falling this hard this fast, “Do you wanna keep going? I mean, just this, just making out.” Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

Stiles grinned back at him, leaning in, and in an instant his mouth was locked with Derek’s, their lips pulling gently at each other’s. Derek smiled against the kiss, tilting his head a bit to make it easier to negotiate. Stiles’ hand found Derek’s shoulder, running over it cautiously, as though he wasn’t sure if this was ok, wasn’t sure if he could touch Derek. To reassure him, Derek’s arm extended, his hand landing on Stiles’ upper thigh. It was enough to coax Stiles’ hand down Derek’s chest, his mouth opening up slightly and spouting little surprised sounds into Derek’s as he explored the firm muscle he found.

Derek took the opportunity that presented itself and carefully, slowly, began to thread his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, eliciting even more sound. It was passionate, strong, powerful. Derek felt as though he were in some deep, ancient communication with Stiles, like they were drinking in the raw emotion held deep within the other. Derek entwined his tongue with Stiles’, gently and lovingly, losing any remaining sense of time.

Eventually Derek became more ambitious, breaking the kiss with a whispered “Hold on”, lifting the armrests around their seats. He climbed on top of Stiles, straddling his lap before pouncing back in with his mouth, tearing at Stiles’ lips ravenously, like a man starved in the desert. Stiles’ hands came to rest on Derek’s hips, gripping them roughly.

A soft moan slipped out of Stiles as Derek’s mouth dipped down, nipping and kissing at his jaw, reddening the skin as blood rushed to the area. Derek wanted to hold Stiles down some day, kiss him all over, mark him with hickeys are big as golfballs, wanted to see Stiles’ face blush so adorably with embarrassment every time someone saw them. He ground himself down against Stiles’ lap anxiously, pressing a bite mark into the soft flesh of Stiles’ neck and drawing out a happy whimper.

Stiles’ hands wandered up from Derek’s hips, sliding underneath the thin fabric of Derek’s shirt and onto the small of his back. His nails coursed through the deep dimples he found, making Derek’s breath grow ever heavier. As Stiles’ hands rose further, the shirt rose with them and Derek flirted with the idea of ripping it off right there in the theater, letting Stiles admire the years of hard work that became Derek’s physique with the benefit of Stiles being able to let his hands wander wherever they wanted, uninhibited.

Fuck it, he wanted this thing off and he wanted Stiles’ beautiful hands all over him, slender fingers tracing the outline of every muscle and every bit of flesh. Derek leaned away from Stiles, grabbing the hem of his shirt, hiking it up and –

“ _Hey!_ You can’t do that in here!” The angry usher exclaimed, giving them an annoyed and aggravated look.

Derek and Stiles froze, unable to do anything but stare at the girl. Derek’s shirt was still halfway off, Stiles’ pants were still tented out underneath Derek, both of their lips plump, and the embarrassment quickly set in.

They scrambled, Derek nearly plummeting backwards as Stiles jolted up underneath him. They grabbed their drinks in a rush, Derek still trying to push the wrinkled fabric of his shirt back down and Stiles adjusting his erection as they ran out of the theater, Stiles nearly getting a mouth full of banister when he missed a step on the way out.

Once they had walked a good distance from the theater Derek stopped, eyes squinting against the brightness of the outdoors and looked at Stiles. They burst into laughter, the reality of what had just happened dawning on both of them.

Derek found Stiles’ laughter beautiful, and as it wound down he stepped toward Stiles, popping the bubble of Stiles’ personal space. He looked Stiles in the eyes, letting his gaze travel down to Stiles lips, unashamed and unreserved this time. They leaned in toward each other, lips locking again as Derek’s hands found Stiles’ slim waist, smiles sliding across their faces.

It had been a good day.

A really, really good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww look at the cuties! Thanks for your continued support guys :D Sorry that this chapter took a while, having trouble balancing the new job and the surprising difficulty of writing fluff. This chapter beta'd by [Shannon](http://hypobones.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr at [mostlysterek](http://mostlysterek.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from ["Kiss Kiss Kiss"](http://open.spotify.com/track/4vVveiBTCBxjJmkpoMPChc) by Peaches and Yoko Ono.


	7. July Flame

Stiles oofed loudly as Derek nearly threw him against the side of the Stilinski house, rushing in hungrily to steal more of Stiles’ breath straight from his mouth as he kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. It was passionate, raw, _dirty_ , and it made every bone in Stiles’ body ache for more and more. Their tongues scraped against each other and their lips took heavy drags across one another as they parted and joined and parted again.

When the decadent rampage finally ended, Stiles was breathless and red, his lips feeling a bit too big for themselves and his mouth stinging with the afterimage of Derek’s stubble.

“Holy… holy shit. This has… Oh my god,” Stiles panted, leaning over a little and placing his hands on his knees. “How do you know how to kiss like that?” He gave Derek and incredulous look, squinting up at him slightly.

“That sounds oddly like a complaint from someone who’s been trying to pull my tongue out of my head for most of the night,” Derek grinned, his own lips just as red as Stiles, his face flushed semi-visibly beneath the tan tone of his skin.

“No, no. No no no. No complaints. Just… Whoa,” Stiles exhaled, trying to get himself – and his aching erection – under control.

A strange kind of silence settled over the two of them. Stiles wasn’t sure how to handle this, he’d never gotten to the point of a date – was this even a date? – where you say goodnight and go your separate ways. Derek was clearly at a loss as well, his feet shuffling around, kicking the light dusting of dirt on Stiles’ porch into shallow piles. Stiles finally decided that it was time to break the silence, to end the cold-shower this moment was turning into.

“I guess I better go inside and let you go. My dad’s gonna be home soon and I don’t know how he’d like you being here when he gets back.” The words came out with an undue harshness that Stiles immediately regrets. The _last_ thing he wants to do is make Derek think that he’s blowing him off or that he’s disinterested. Because Stiles is _so_ interested, _very_ interested. He’s interested in kissing Derek more, in touching his body, in screaming out his name during the climax of a night together, in holding him close in the nakedness of afterglow.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta get back to my hotel room anyway,” Derek said with a shrug and a small smile. Stiles nodded and then turned to begin unlocking his door, his mind coming up blank when asked for valid and appropriate responses. Derek breathes out a sigh and Stiles can hear his footsteps drop as he walks off the porch and onto their walk. He chews his lip, thinking, hating how these few minutes have seemed to dampen the whole night. Impulse gets the better of him.

“…Derek! Wait!” Stiles ran after him, his front door creaking open, keys still in the lock. Derek spins around just in time for Stiles to collide with him, Stiles’ long, lanky arms wrapping themselves around Derek’s firm torso and holding tight, betraying Stiles’ casual goodbye from earlier. It’s a wanton gesture, silent and easy, but begging and grasping. Stiles’ heart flutters back toward a normal pulse when Derek returns it, his hands coming to meet each other around Stiles’ lower back.

“Why don’t you give me a call later?” Derek said into Stiles’ hair, planting a soft kiss amidst the chocolate brown mess. Stiles perks up, nearly knocking his forehead against Derek’s jaw as he jerks his face upward in surprise, an enormous grin taking over his face.

“Yes! Yes, I can. That is a thing that I can do.” His nervousness came back, yet again, and in full force. Embarrassment and over-eagerness were Stiles’ bread and butter. But Derek smiled back, soft and warm, like hot water washing away a soreness hiding deep in his muscles. Derek’s arms unraveled from his body, leaving a fading glow of heat in their place. Derek strode back to his Camaro, taking long, deliberate steps, using his remote-start to get it running before he opened the door.

“And don’t keep me waiting too long!” he called back to Stiles, holding onto the door and grinning at him, making Stiles’ face light up in response.

“You’ll be up all night thinking about me anyway!” He grinned, ear-to-ear and nose-to-chin. A glowing ember settled in his belly as Derek drove off, like the spark that he had felt when he kissed Derek at the coffee shop had finally settled and began its slow burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really really sorry about how long it's taken to get something out here again! But here's some proof that I _am_ still around. Work has gotten really hectic and it's been hard to find time for myself, and when I do it doesn't always line up with the mood to write.
> 
> In short, sorry for the... shortness... of this chapter. It was something to get me going again, and I think it's served its purpose. Updates will be coming slower now, but I still plan to finish this out. Mark my words, it will happen. 
> 
> This chapter is unbeta'd. As always, you can find me over at [my tumblr](http://mostlysterek.tumblr.com/) whenever you want. I'm eager to answer any questions/comments that you have, and I'm more apt to respond there than here.
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from ["July Flame"](http://open.spotify.com/track/1jxJTAFQbITxh68MgrUPxq) by Laura Veirs.


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